


Dependent on Your Answer

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, look do you really need to know more?, theres sex but it's not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Harry asks Merlin to pretend to be his boyfriend for a family dinner.





	Dependent on Your Answer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mang_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mang_o/gifts).



> This really didn't turn out the way I was hoping. I have a newfound respect for fake-dating authors because this is a damn hard trope to write. Still, I hope you like it.  
> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so let me know if there are any issues.

“Merlin!” Harry practically launches himself across the desk the moment he steps into his best friend’s office. Although that’s a bit of an exaggeration: he really just leans over the desk, albeit exuberantly, physically putting himself between Merlin and the paperwork he’s going over.

Merlin sighs and lifts an eyebrow, “Yes, Harry?”

“Do you happen to have any plans this weekend? And be advised, the happiness of the rest of my life is entirely dependent upon your answer.”

“Do I dare ask?”

Harry gives him a pleading look, “Just tell me if you have plans or not.”

“I do not,” Merlin tells him. “Unless catching up on Doctor Who counts as having plans.”

“It does not,” Harry says, “and you can beam down from the Death Star-“

“That is not even remotely correct.”

“-because you’ll be meeting my parents this weekend,” Harry finishes like Merlin hadn’t said anything.

Merlin blinks, “I’m sorry, what?”

Harry sighs, “Do you remember when I went to visit my family for Mother’s birthday last month?”

“Of course. You asked me about the best place to buy orchids because they’re her favourite flower.” They’re a little over-the-top, if you ask Merlin, but from what Harry’s told him about Lorretta Hart, a little over-the-top seems accurate. Apparently, it runs in the family.

“Well, the thing is,” Harry says, clearly dragging the words out as long as he physically can until Merlin narrows his eyes at him and he gets to the point, “I may have told her we were in a relationship.”

Merlin is too stunned to reply. It takes him a moment to figure out how his vocal cords work again. “Why the hell would you tell her that? Last I checked, we were _not_ a couple.” This is a nightmare. An honest to god nightmare.

Harry at least has the decency to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to. But Emma and Thomas just got engaged and Mark and Elizabeth told everyone that she’s pregnant and they all kept asking me when I was going to find a nice wife and settle down and I just snapped and told them.”

“You told them we were in a relationship?”

“No, I told them I was gay,” Harry says. He looks a tiny bit relieved, Merlin notices. “They took it better than I expected, honestly. My mother was horrified that I hid it from her for so long.”

“Well, that’s a plus,” Merlin says. His voice takes on a hint of sarcasm that he can’t fully manage to supress when he continues, “Not to be a bother, but I still don’t see how this turning into ‘oh and I’m dating my best friend and co-worker who you’ve never met.’”

“She started talking about fixing me up with some poncy son of a friend or something like that, and the last thing I need is my mother trying to fix me up with some stranger. So, I may have panicked and told her I was seeing someone. I’ve never mentioned you at home, and your name was the first one that came to mind, so I told her we’ve been seeing each other for a little while, that we were waiting to make sure it was serious before I came out to everyone, which of course then put me in a box because I had just come out, which my mother took to mean we were serious, so now you’re invited to the family holiday dinner, and if you don’t show up, I’ll be exposed as a liar and doomed to eternal shame and misery as my mother arranges to marry me to a pretentious rich arsehole.”

“First of all,” Merlin says, “ _you’re_ a pretentious, rich arsehole.”

“Yes, but I’m a lovable one.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Second, can’t you tell her I broke up with you, tragically broke your heart, and now you’ll never love again?”

Harry shakes his head, “My mother would never believe it. She’d think I was lying.”

“You _are_ lying.”

“Please, Merlin? I am on my knees begging you here.” God help him, he actually gets down on his knees, and Merlin forces himself to look away, because that image evokes a series of conflicting feelings in his chest that he’d rather not analyse to deeply.

He knows he’s going to give in because, in the end, he can never say no to Harry.

Of course, Harry doesn’t know that. “The fact that we have been friends for over ten years is the only reason I am even remotely considering this,” Merlin tells him, and Harry instantly brightens.

“So, you’ll do it?”

He’s still on his knees, and Merlin swallows hard. “I’ll think about it.”

Harry leaps to his feet and grasps Merlin’s shoulders, a sort of substitute hug and a familiar gesture to both of them. “Merlin, you are the best friend I could ever ask for. I don’t deserve you.”

“You really don’t.” As Harry bounces towards the door, Merlin calls after him, “I’m just thinking about it. I haven’t said I’ll do it…and he’s gone.” He sinks down at his desk again and buries his head in his arms.

It’s not that he doesn’t have the skills for this. Undercover missions where he’s assumed a false alias to accomplish a goal? He walks agents through this same scenario all the time, and he’s even participated once or twice himself, when the mission called for it. But it’s different. This isn’t for Kingsman. It’s for Harry. For his best friend, who Merlin may or may not have been harbouring a slight crush on for more than ten years. Alright, maybe a bit more than a slight crush.

He is completely and utterly fucked.

***

“Don’t look so nervous,” Harry chides, reaching over to straighten Merlin’s collar. Merlin attempts to bat him off, but Harry is insistent, “It’s immediate family only. You’re just meeting my parents and my siblings. There’s no pressure.”

“No pressure,” Merlin nods, giving up and letting Harry refold his collar until he’s satisfied with it, “except that I need to convince your parents that I’m in love with you and that we’ve been a couple for…how long did you say?”

“Three years.” Merlin raises his eyebrows and Harry defends, “Three is a solid number! It’s long enough that we could be sure it was a serious relationship, but not so long that marriage would be on the table.”

Merlin has known multiple people who got married after less than three years. Most of them ended in divorce, and the ones that didn’t are largely unhappy, and often involve at least one half of the couple cheating on the other. Call Merlin unromantic all you like, but he doesn’t believe in that ‘love at first sight’ nonsense. Real love is built on a solid foundation of mutual respect and trust. Like he has for Harry, a treacherous voice in the back of his mind reminds him, and he promptly shoves that thought away.

“You’re getting that crease in your forehead,” Harry informs him. “The one that means you’re thinking about something serious.”

“I was wondering if we should approach this as a mission,” Merlin lies smoothly. “Establish a cover story, make sure we have the same facts.”

“Or,” Harry suggests, “we could just wing it?”

“Just because that is your favourite mission strategy does not mean it is mine,” Merlin says. Being Harry’s primary handler is a hassle and a half. “You told them my name was Hamish?”

“Well, that is your real name,” Harry points out.

“No one calls me that, though.”

“Well, Merlin is hardly a common name and I didn’t have an explanation ready, alright?” Harry says. “Look. They think I’m a tailor, so I told them you dealt with the website and all things technical around the shop. It’s not entirely a lie, so it should be easy to remember.”

“Right. And-“

Before Merlin can ask any more questions, Harry reaches out and rings the doorbell. He gives Merlin a look, “Everything will be fine.”

The door opens to a woman with greying hair and the same warm brown eyes as Harry. “Oh, there’s my darling boy,” she coos, sweeping Harry up for a tight hug.

“Hello, Mother,” Harry says fondly. When she releases him, he gestures to Merlin, “I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Hamish. Darling, this is my mother, Loretta Hart.”

The pet name catches Merlin off-guard, but he keeps his surprise under wraps and smiles politely at her, offering out his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hart. Harry has told me a lot about you.”

She laughs, “You’re part of the family, dear. Come here and let me hug you.”

Merlin stiffens, and Harry steps in smoothly, “Hamish isn’t much for hugging. He’s not especially fond of being touched by strangers.” That’s not even a lie, and that Harry remembers it is surprisingly gratifying. He’s one of the few people Merlin is comfortable having physical contact with, and even then it took them a few years to get to that point.

“Oh,” Loretta looks disappointed for a split second, but then bounces right back. “Well, perhaps by the end of the visit we won’t be strangers anymore. Come in, come in. Don’t want you freezing to death on the doorstep.”

As she ushers them over the threshold, Merlin whispers to Harry, “Thank you.”

“That will only work on my mother,” Harry whispers back. “Most of my family isn’t touchy-feely, so you should be fine, but best steer clear of Emma.”

“Duly noted.”

“What are you boys whispering about?” Loretta asks.

Harry and Merlin straighten up and say in unison, “Nothing.”

She gives them a knowing look, but what she says is, “Your brother and sister are already here. One of these days, we’ll teach you the importance of punctuality.”

Merlin snorts, “I’ve been trying for years. I’m beginning to think it’s a lost cause.”

Loretta laughs, “He’s just as bad with you, I take it?”

“Always,” Merlin nods.

“To work, even? Harry said you worked together.”

“We do,” Merlin says. “Different departments, though. We don’t see all the much of each other at work, expect when he stops by my office to see me.”

“Sounds sweet.”

It’s actually a right pain, because Merlin is usually busy walking someone through a mission or else messing about with dangerous materials that might explode and Harry is too distracting for his own good, but Merlin can’t say that in front of Harry’s mother. “It’s very sweet,” he says instead.

Loretta leads them through the house. Well, house is putting it a bit mildly in Merlin’s opinion. The front hallway alone was bigger than his flat (who even needs staircases that large? This isn’t a castle), and Loretta leads them further in, down a hallway full of closed doors until they reach the end, where glass, French double doors are flung open into what Merlin would probably categorize as a living room if it wasn’t so massive, a handful of sofas, loveseats, and armchairs, as well as a full-size grand piano, clustered around a tree at least twice Merlin’s height, decorated with silver garland and coloured baubles the size of Merlin’s fist, all tucked into one corner of the room, the rest open hardwood with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden.

As if sensing his unease, Harry takes Merlin’s arm, and the gesture grounds Merlin in the vast, empty space. Sprawled across the furniture in the corner is the rest of Harry’s immediate family. Two sets of couples are crowded onto the two loveseats, and four heads swivel to look at them as they approach, but one man, well past grey but rigid as a ruler, stands up from his seat and greets them, “Harry.”

Harry reaches out and shakes his hand, “Father.”

Mr. Hart turns and offers his hand to Merlin, “Reginald Hart.”

Merlin shakes his hand, “Hamish Grey. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

He feels Mr. Hart’s hand tense in his grip, and when he withdraws, it’s with an abruptly unreadable expression. “Harry didn’t tell us you were…Scottish.”

“Father,” Harry hisses.

Merlin sighs internally. Of course Harry’s father is stuck in the last century. He pastes a smile on his face, “Is that a problem?”

Mr. Hart glances at his wife, then his children, and then back to Merlin. His smile is clearly just as false as Merlin’s. “Of course not. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He gestures to the sofa, “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Harry pulls Merlin over to the sofa, pressing right up against his side and keeping a firm grip on his arm. Merlin wonders if he’s laying it on a little thick. He’s not positive he would be this clingy even if he were in a relationship with Harry. Although, if he allows himself to think about it for more than a few seconds – a terrible idea, really, but such an inviting one – he thinks that he probably would.

It’s easy enough to determine who everyone is, even without introductions. Emma has a shiny engagement ring on her finger, and Elizabeth is clearly pregnant. Mark, who looks remarkably similar to Harry, if a few years younger, has one arm wrapped around Elizabeth’s shoulders, and the other hand frequently reaches down to stroke over her stomach. Emma’s fiancé, conversely, is sitting far enough away from her that they aren’t quite touching. Merlin goes through the brief introduction with a polite smile still on his face and does his best to pretend that being all but wrapped around Harry isn’t affecting him, making his heart race.

“How long have you been together, again?” Emma asks. “I know Harry mentioned it, but I can’t quite recall.”

“Three years,” Merlin says. He finds Harry’s hand and squeezes it, “We knew each other a bit before that, though.”

“Really?”

“Well, we work together,” Harry says. He doesn’t let Merlin release his hand, twining their fingers together and resting them on his knee. “Office romance, and all that. Both smitten with each other and completely oblivious to the other’s feelings.”

Merlin’s heart lurches uncomfortably. The words, of course, are only half true. He may be in love with Harry, who is, to his knowledge, completely unaware of his feelings, but he’s fairly confident the reverse isn’t true. Harry flirts with him, but Harry flirts with everyone, and they’re best friends. Harry’s even said, multiple times, that he wouldn’t jeopardize his friendship with Merlin for anything.

Elizabeth sighs, “Oh, that’s so sweet. How did you get together?”

Merlin glances at Harry, and it’s only years of working together that tells him that the placid expression on his face means Harry hasn’t actually thought this far ahead. “There was a problem with the server in the shop,” Merlin says smoothly. “I had to be there in person to fix it. Harry was around, and we spent a lot of time talking, and eventually we just sort of…realized we were interested in each other.” He nudges Harry with his shoulder, “It helps that his poker face is awful. Kept blushing and tripping over his words. I’d have had to be a moron not to get the hint.”

Harry turns bright red, as if on cue. He ducks his head, butting it against Merlin’s shoulder as if in embarrassment. “Don’t tell them about that, darling,” he pleads. “I’ll sound like a complete fool.”

“Sounds about right for Harry,” Emma teases, and Merlin chuckles.

“He’s a bit of a stubborn fool, but he’s my stubborn fool.” God, those words hurt. Harry looks up at him, and Merlin doesn’t think Harry’s playing when his eyes go wide and his expression softens, gaze flicking down to Merlin’s lips briefly. Merlin goes for it without even thinking, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to Harry’s lips.

Mr. Hart clears his throat, and Merlin pulls away quickly. Harry, on the other hand, shoots his father a very distinct look, and pulls Merlin back to him. Merlin tenses, because this kiss is just beyond chaste, Harry’s tongue tracing over his bottom lip, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin can’t help but lean into it, his brain going a bit fuzzy because _Harry is kissing him_.

When they break apart, Merlin isn’t sure if the lack of oxygen in his lungs is from the kiss or from shock. Harry gives him a lopsided grin, his eyes full of affection, and says, “Of course I’m yours, darling. As long as you’ll have me.”

It sounds sincere, far too sincere. Merlin clears his throat and looks away, passing it off as embarrassment in front of Harry’s family, and Harry laughs, “Don’t be shy, Hamish. I remember the year we caught Mark and Elizabeth practicing for their baby in the drawing room.”

It’s his sister-in-law’s and brother’s turn to look embarrassed, and Mark coughs out a mumbled excuse, which turns into Emma and Harry needling their younger brother while their parents and partners watch with amusement.

A servant (because yes, Harry’s family is rich enough to have real, honest-to-god servants) comes to let them know dinner is ready, and they settle again in the dining room. Merlin wonders if it would be rude to say that he personally prefers Harry’s Christmas turkey to the one the chef has prepared. What he does say is, “This is delicious.”

Loretta beams, “I’m glad you like it, dear.”

“Did Harry learn to cook from your chef, or…?”

“Did he never tell you this story?” Loretta asks.

Harry flushes, “Mother, Hamish doesn’t want to hear about my childhood exploits.”

“I absolutely do,” Merlin says, and pretends it’s because he wants to find some dirt to lord over Harry’s head next time he needs to get the agent to cooperate, rather than as a selfish desire to find out everything he possibly can about him.

Loretta sets her fork down and leans in, “When Harry was about ten years old, we got a new cook, and she brought her daughter with her to help in the kitchen. Harry was completely smitten with the girl-“

“I was not!” Harry protests. “I just…thought she was pretty, that’s all.”

“Well, whatever the reason, he would not leave her alone. Got the chef to give him cooking lessons so he could spend as much time as possible in the kitchen. Became quite the little chef himself. I always thought he would go on to do it professionally, but that’s our Harry, for you. Flighty as the butterflies.”

“I know all about the butterflies,” Merlin nods. Harry sinks a bit lower in his seat. “When did he start collecting them?”

“He’s always been too interested in dead things for his own good,” Mr. Hart mumbles. Loretta shoots him a look.

“They’re disgusting,” Emma says cheerfully. “He used to catch them in a net and then pin them to his bedroom wall while they were still alive.”

“I did not!” Harry says before Merlin can even lift an eyebrow. It did sound rather out of character for Harry. He turns to Merlin, “Yes, I used to chase butterflies and try to catch them, but I never once killed one. That would be cruel.”

“Still gross,” Emma says.

“Maybe we should discuss something else?” Elizabeth suggests diplomatically. “I don’t think anyone has told Hamish about the time Harry came home with a live chicken and tried to keep it as a pet.”

Merlin straightens up and listens with interest as Harry buries his face in his hands.

When they break for pudding, Harry leans over and whispers, “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Learning that you were just as ridiculous as a child as you are now?” Merlin says. “Absolutely.”

“You could at least pretend you’re not going to rub this in my face later.”

“You’re the one who invited me,” Merlin points out. “If you’d wanted someone who wasn’t going to rub your face in it, you should have asked Percival to pretend to date you.”

A brief flicker crosses Harry’s face, but it’s too quick for Merlin to parse out the emotion. Instead, he glances across the table, where his father is watching them, and then presses a brief kiss to Merlin’s cheek before withdrawing. Merlin doesn’t miss the way Mr. Hart looks away, the briefest trace of disgust in the corner of his mouth.

Dinner is followed by a return to the study. Mr. Hart attempts to coax Elizabeth into playing the piano, apparently something of a holiday tradition, and he doesn’t accept her declining until Mark puts his foot down, pointing out that pregnant as she is, sitting on the piano bench would be horribly uncomfortable.

“I can play,” Merlin offers before he can think better of it.

Five pairs of eyes turn to look at him. “I didn’t know you could play piano,” Harry says, his voice caught between surprise and intrigue, tinted with hurt.

Merlin shrugs, and his answer is more a reassurance to Harry than anything else, “Most people don’t. It’s not something I like to flaunt, and I’m sure I’m not as good as Elizabeth.” He nods respectfully to her, but she just shrugs. He looks around the room, “I’m not sure if I know the songs you usually play, but if you have sheet music, I could take a stab at it.”

Mr. Hart looks like he’s going to protest, before Loretta interrupts him, “That sounds lovely, dear. The music should be in the folder on top of the piano.”

Merlin settles at the bench, running his fingers gently over the keys before setting the folder up and pulling out the sheets for the first song. It’s been awhile, so the notes start off a bit clumsily, but by the second page he’s regained confidence, and the music is smooth as the Harts fade back into quiet conversation.

Harry joins him on the piano bench. “I can’t believe you never told me you played piano,” he says, sounding a tiny bit like he’s sulking. “I thought we were friends. What’s next, I find out you have a pilot’s license?”

Merlin stares at him, “I _do_ have a pilot’s licence.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since I was in the RAF. Honestly, how did you not know that?”

“You never said!”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “We’ve known each other for more than ten years. If you didn’t know I could fly a plane by now, it’s your own fault.”

“Oh, and it’s my fault I don’t know my best friend can play piano too?”

“I told you,” Merlin says, “that’s on me. I don’t tell people that.”

“Why not?” Harry asks. He idly turns over the next sheet of music before Merlin can do it himself.

Merlin shrugs, “People have a very specific image of me in their head, and I like to encourage that. Piano doesn’t get you taken seriously in our line of work.”

Harry glances back at his family, “Oh, I don’t know. You’re got a tailor’s fingers.”

Merlin laughs. “More than you, anyway. Maybe I should take your job?”

“Don’t you dare,” Harry’s voice turns serious too quickly. He looks back again, and his voice drops to just above a whisper when he says, “Don’t even joke about going into the field. We both know you’re better off behind a desk.”

Merlin hits a bad note, and everyone flinches. “Sorry,” he tells the room, and then slides back into playing. To Harry, he hisses, “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I could be a field agent?”

“That’s not-“ Harry cuts himself off, and then says, “You are incredibly talented, Merlin. You could have any job at Kingsman you wanted, including being in the field. But you’re not in the field, you’re Merlin, and your job is to keep agents safe. I wouldn’t trust your life in the hands of anyone else, and that’s exactly what would happen if you were an agent. Someone else would be in your ear and I just...” He thumps his fist gently against the top of the piano and drops his head. “I like things as they are,” he mumbles.

Merlin frowns, because Harry is usually a lot more eloquent than that. “I like things as they are too,” he says, because he’s not sure what else he can say. “I’m not about to go into the field, Harry. It was just a joke. Besides,” he nudges Harry gently, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with you in the field either. We make a great team.”

“We do,” Harry agrees.

Eventually it’s time to bid everyone goodnight, and Merlin feels his pulse pick up as Harry leads him to his bedroom. “Are you sure I can’t sleep somewhere else?” he asks softly. “You have plenty of rooms.”

“Do you want my family to get suspicious and wonder why we aren’t sharing a room?” Harry says. “It’s alright, it’s a big bed. We’ve camped out together in worse places.”

They have, but that isn’t the point. This is Harry’s childhood bedroom. It’s intimate in a way a mission is not. But Merlin doesn’t know how to voice that without making it weird, so he stops where Harry does and follows him into the room.

Harry wasn’t kidding about the bed being big, but given the size of the room, it fits in perfectly. Now that they’re away from earshot of his family, Merin doesn’t bother keeping his voice down when he says, “Jesus, Harry, I knew your family was loaded, but this is ridiculous.”

“It’s a bit extravagant, I know,” Harry admits. He shifts uncomfortably, and his voice is defensive when says, “I can’t help the family I was born into.”

“That wasn’t a jab at you,” Merlin says. “It’s just…wow. You probably could buy half the town I grew up in and still have money left over.”

Harry settles on the edge of the bed, “Given what I’ve heard about your hometown, I don’t doubt it.”

Merlin sits next to him. “So. Your chef’s daughter? I thought you were gay.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “I am gay. I just…hadn’t realized it yet. I assumed, given what I saw about love, that my interest in her came from some desire for companionship. I was right, just not in the way I thought.”

“The way you peacock around, I sort of assumed you always knew you were gay.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” Harry says softly.

Merlin looks at him. “No, I guess I don’t.” He wants to, but they’ve been playing this game for years, getting just close enough to know each other better than anyone else, but no closer. Merlin knows, at least on his part, that at least some of the hesitation comes from his need to keep his feelings to himself. He wonders what Harry’s excuse is.

The silence between them is awkward in a way it usually isn’t, and Merlin finally breaks it, “We should probably go to bed.”

“Right,” Harry agrees. Merlin looks away when Harry strips and changes. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before – he’s Harry’s primary handler, after all, and agents don’t get much in the way of privacy – but it’s a new context and it feels too close. Harry passes him a spare set of pyjamas, and Merlin changes as well. He pointedly keeps his eyes off Harry. He doesn’t want to know if Harry is looking at him.

When he turns back, Harry has already slid into bed, making himself comfortable under the duvet. Merlin climbs in next to him, and even with both of them in it, there’s plenty of space between them, an almost cavernous expanse. The little voice in the back of Merlin’s brain urges him to move closer, to wrap his arms around Harry and cuddle up against him. He ignores it, rolling over to face the wall.

Silence descends over the room, save for Harry’s soft breathing, evening out until Merlin is certain he’s asleep. But no matter how hard he tries, Merlin can’t follow after. He stares at the wall, tracing patterns with his eyes, until he gives up and slips out from under the blankets and pads restlessly down the hall. He’s not going anywhere in particular, but the room feels too small and he needs to get out of it before he does something stupid.

He stumbles across the library by accident. It’s like something out of a movie; floor to ceiling bookshelves, lots of armchairs and low tables and a crackling fireplace. Merlin pokes around until he hears raised voices, and he ducks behind a shelf instinctively.

Loretta shuts the door behind her as she and her husband stalk into the library, and her voice echoes when she says, “You didn’t have a problem with it before!”

Jesus. Listening to Harry’s parents fight is probably at the very top of worst possible moments to happen while he’s here.

“I don’t care that he’s queer. He could be taking it up the arse for half the country and I wouldn’t give a shit,” Mr. Hart says, and Merlin winces in sympathy for Harry. At least his father is supportive, even if he’s clearly not the most socially aware.  Mr. Hart isn’t done, though. “But a bloody Scot? He could have had anyone, but he chose-“

“Hamish seems like a lovely young man,” Loretta interrupts. “And it’s clear he makes Harry happy. You saw him tonight. He’s happier than he’s been in ages, and if Hamish is the cause then I hope he stays around for a very long time.”

Mr. Hart stays silent, and Merlin’s shocked they can’t hear his heart, the way it’s thundering in his ears. It’s just a coincidence that Harry seems happier now, right? He’s finally out to his parents. That’s got to be a burden lifted off his shoulders. Merlin doesn’t factor into it.

But he thinks about the kiss again, the softness in Harry’s eyes, the conversation by the piano, and he thinks maybe it’s time to suck it up and talk to Harry, risk to their friendship be damned. Merlin is a practical man. It’s his job to observe, draw conclusions, and then act on them. And his observations are starting to point in a very clear direction. Yes, it’s time for a chat with Harry. Just as soon as he can sneak out of the library without being noticed.

About ten minutes – or a lifetime - later, after Loretta and her husband finish their argument and leave, Merlin slips out and finds his way back to Harry’s bedroom. He closes the door behind him, quietly as he can, and turns around to see Harry sitting up in bed, hugging his knees and watching him.

“What’re you doing up?” Merlin asks softly.

“I could ask you the same.”

Merlin takes a seat on the bed. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed to take a walk, clear my head a bit.” He goes quiet, wondering how to broach the subject.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, startling him out of his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. It’s too much.” He rests his chin on his knees, “I just hate disappointing people and I thought…”

“You thought you could handle pretending?” Merlin suggests. “Even if it was just for a night or so, and then you’d have to go right back to how things were?” It’s how he feels, and maybe, just maybe, it’s how Harry feels as well.

Harry flushes, barely discernible in the dark. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t heard your parents talking just now. Your mother says this is the happiest she’s seen you in ages.” He hesitates, “Is she right? I mean, am I…”

“Are you why I’m happy?” Harry asks. “Of course you are. You always are. Getting to pretend you were mine, and I was yours, even just for one night…Merlin, you know I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our friendship. But for one night…for one night I could pretend. And I thought that would be enough.” He looks up at Merlin, “Are you terribly angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“For being in love with you.”

“I didn’t realize that was something to be angry about,” Merlin says softly. “In fact, I think I’m a little angrier that you didn’t say something sooner, although I can’t very well blame you for that when I’m just as at fault.”

It takes Harry a moment to process that, and then: “Wait. Do you mean…?”

Merlin gives half a shrug, “I’m not exactly good at talking about my feelings, Harry. You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to lose that.”

“But you love me too. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“Yes,” Merlin says. “That’s what I’m saying.” He reaches for Harry, because he’s allowed to now, and Harry takes it a step farther, dragging Merlin towards him and crashing their lips together.

Merlin threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, and the other man moans softly into his mouth. There is absolutely no resistance from him when Merlin pushes him down into the mattress, tangling their legs together. Harry makes a soft sound of pleasure, arching against Merlin. Merlin grinds his hips down in response.

They both last an embarrassingly short amount of time. Neither of them even manage to get their trousers off. But Harry doesn’t seem especially bothered by it, and he happily curls up in the middle of the bed, leaving Merlin no choice but to settle against him (not that he’s complaining). Sleep finds him much more easily this time.

He wakes up still wrapped around Harry. He looks beautiful like this. Well, beautiful may be a stretch. His curls are wild and messy, and he’s thoroughly rumpled, but he looks soft. Peaceful. It’s an attractive look on him, and one Merlin could get used to seeing.

He nudges Harry softly and murmurs, “Time to wake up, Harry.”

“Breakfast time?” The words are slurred against the pillows. Harry’s eyes don’t even open.

“Breakfast time,” Merlin promises. “And then we get to leave your parents house and go home.”

Harry flips onto his back so he can look at Merlin, squinting against the morning light. “Home?”

“Well, the weekend’s not over yet,” Merlin says. “We both still have leave, and I was thinking maybe, if you were interested, we could go back to your place – or mine, I’m not picky – and maybe…talk about this.”

“Talk?” Harry arches his eyebrows.

“Or have sex,” Merlin offers. “Or both. Probably both. Or I could go home and watch Doctor Who like I planned. Up to you, but be advised, the happiness of the rest of my life is entirely dependent upon your answer.”

“Oh, you bastard,” Harry laughs. He stretches up, his fingers tracing over Merlin’s cheek, and he smiles, “Give me a kiss first, and then I’ll give you my answer.”

Merlin bends down obligingly and kisses Harry sweetly. Harry makes a soft humming sound in his throat, and when Merlin pulls away, he whispers, “I’d very much like to take you home with me this afternoon.”

“We really do need to talk,” Merlin tells him. They do. Midnight confessions and rushed sex do not a relationship make, and Merlin wants to do this right. His friendship with Harry means everything to him, and he doesn’t want to lose that by shagging the man.

As if reading his mind, Harry says, “You’re my best friend, Merlin. We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah?” Merlin asks.

Harry props himself up on an elbow, curling his hand around Merlin’s neck and kissing him again. “Yes,” he says simply, “we will.”

Call Merlin a romantic, but just from the certainty in Harry’s tone and the love in his eyes, he believes him.


End file.
